


Because He Can

by Lenore



Category: Pretty In Pink (1986)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Blow Jobs, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Identity Issues, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steff's a jerk, and Blane is kidding himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because He Can

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle prompt: jerk. Beware the dubious consent.

Here is something few people, not even Steff’s friends, believe about him: he is perfectly self-aware. That he’s a bully and a drunk and a piece of shit—none of this is news. People fear and follow him because he can look his own ugly truth straight in the face and just not give a fuck.

Beats the hell out of not knowing shit about yourself; he’s got living proof of that two tables away.

Blane slumps in his chair, alone at the table like a loser, watching pathetically, a horsewhipped bitch, as his little bit of trailer trash twirls around the dance floor in the arms of some dork.

Steff spares a glance at Andie, and he will give Blane credit for this: he was right about her seeing through Steff, about her not giving him the time of day. That she is right now wearing the ugliest fucking dress on Earth takes some of the sting out of never getting to tap that. No piece of ass is worth being blinded by a fashion sense that hideous.

Blane, of course, stares as if he’s never seen anyone so beautiful. The most pitiful part is that it’s all such a fucking lie.

If Steff weren’t a jerk, he’d find some way to break Blane’s own truth to him gently. But then, if Steff weren’t a jerk, he’d be someone else entirely.

“Hey.” He slides onto the chair next to Blane.

Blane’s got nothing like a poker face, and in the space of a single breath he goes from surprised to pissed to sorry. It’s that last expression that sticks. “Um, about what I said the other day—“

Steff waves him off. “Forget it.” He knows how this evening’s going to end, and he can afford to be magnanimous. “You doing okay, buddy?”

The moony-eyed look that Blane casts in Andie’s direction makes Steff want to ask him where he left his balls. Instead he slips a flask beneath the table. “I know what’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t—“

“You do,” Steff insists, with the confidence that comes from many other evenings just like this one. “Or would you rather sit here all night being miserable?”

One last glance at Andie, and Blane takes the flask, spills some bourbon into his cup, and tips it back.

Steff takes charge from there. “Drink up, buddy.” He pours a second and a third and a fourth round.

A good friend would be doing this without any ulterior motive except making Blane feel better. Steff is quite clear that he is way too much of an asshole to be anyone’s good friend.

“Come on.” Steff hauls Blane to his feet once he starts to list in his chair and draw concerned looks from the vice principal. “Time to go sleep it off.”

Upstairs, the hotel room is dark and empty and quiet. Benny gave Steff her frostiest queen-bitch glare when he told her to keep everyone out, but she’ll get over it. She always does.

“Steff,” Blane says, his voice small even in the quiet. He sways forward, unsteady on his feet, although not so unsteady that he needs to cling to Steff quite as fiercely as he does.

He does that just because he wants to. By Steff’s calculations, Blane is a fifth-of-Jack queer.

“Steff,” Blane says again, more urgently. His lips brush Steff’s neck, his fingers clench and unclench in the fabric of Steff’s jacket.

“Yeah, buddy. I’m here.”

Blane is a messy drunk, hair standing on end, tie half undone, shirttail dangling from the waistband of his pants. His kissing is even messier, spit and teeth and hot bourbon breath. Steff pulls Blane’s head back roughly, cupping his skull with his hand, and bites him on the neck, leaving behind a vampire mark that will still be there in the morning. Just because he can. The pleased little noise this startles out of Blane makes it very good to be Steff.

He strips himself down to his boxers and helps Blane fumble his way out of his shirt and jacket. He pulls Blane’s belt off and opens his fly, drawing another fevered groan out of him, but that’s as far as the undressing goes. Steff is an asshole, and making Blane come in his pants is too much fun to pass up.

They tumble onto the bed, and Blane blinks, dazed, as if in that fraction of a second of freefall he’s lost his bearings entirely, forgotten where he is and what he’s doing.

“I’ve got you. I know what you need.” Steff pulls his own cock free from his boxers and guides Blane down.

Blane’s enthusiastic when he gets there, his mouth wide and wet and busy, making a drooling mess. A steady stream of pleasure sounds bubble out of him. He’s a cock-hungry little slut when he’s drunk enough to let the self-delusions slip.

“That’s good, buddy. Just like that.” Steff grips Blane’s jaw and plunders his mouth. Nothing ever feels better than this.

One day Steff will get married and have children and maybe even get a dog, not because he wants any of that, but just because that’s what people like him do. He’ll have affairs and divorces and more affairs. Because he can.

He fucks his best friend’s mouth every chance he gets for the same reason, although there’s more to it than that. This _belongs_ to him, Blane and his secrets and his whorish desperation. All Steff’s, and if Blane thought jealousy was driving Steff when it came to the Andie situation, he was right. He just didn’t understand who the fuck Steff was jealous of.

Steff’s not just a jerk. He’s a possessive jerk. And he’s not about to let any upstart trailer trash play with his toys.

“Take it, take it,” he chants, thrusting faster and harder between Blane’s lips.

Blane moans, a sound from deep in his chest, and then he shuders and goes still, a sure sign that he’s just made a sticky mess of his underwear. Steff grabs his hair and fucks once, twice and comes in his mouth. Blane coughs, and Steff’s come streams down his chin and drips onto his chest. He’s a disgusting jizz-covered mess, just the way Steff likes him.

“Sleep now,” Steff tells him.

Blane sags back against the mattress, obedient as ever. It occurs to Steff, as it always does in these situations, that he could do anything to Blane. Take him, fuck him, use him six ways from Sunday. And he will, one day, just not today. Because Steff is a jerk and a possessive one at that, and when he fucks Blane for the first time, he wants Blane clear-eyed and painfully sober and begging until his voice goes hoarse.

He figures Blane will catch on eventually, that the fact that they do this every time he has some girl problem _is_ the problem he has with girls. Until then, he’s happy to go on like this.

Because that’s the thing about being a jerk. It never stops being entertaining.


End file.
